Fangs of the Dead
by DJschow28
Summary: Pursued by the U.S government and labeled a fugitive, John Kane seeks refuge in a sparsely populated town with a dark history. if you like this chapter, please read and review


A heavy mist hung over the nearly empty city streets as John Kane sauntered along, and an icy stillness served

to enhance the sense of gloom and foreboding that pervaded over all. The city, for its air of dark mystery,could have well

vied in its capacity to instill unease with the dark locales featured in the work of Lovecraft or Clive Barker, or the

novels and short stories of Ray Bradbury and Stephen King which he'd readily devoured in his youth: those macabre stories of small towns

harboring and nurturing monstrous secrets. Not that this was by any means a small town, quite the opposite, yet a striking resemblance was

undeniable. Though hardly given to superstition, Kane could scarcely suppress a stirring of imaginative fancy during his

perambulations; (which was due largely to what he'd observed during the horrific events precipitated by the UAC in years

past)indeed,such calamitous happenings as had taken place had inspired belief in all but the most hardened of skeptics;ancient

superstitions nearly faded into extintion had reasserted themselves with renewed vigor the world over; sightings were reported of

the dreaded Rakshasas in India, those fanged man-eating monstrosites of hindu myth, along with similar accounts of the Nosferatu

in western Europe. Superstition was now more alive and fervent than ever before, thriving well after the demonic threat had

neared elimination. Anything smacking of the macabre tickled his fancy, and a sense of morbid curiosity prompted him along.

It was some time later he had chanced upon an alley tavern, its presence indicated by little more than the intermittent glow

of a defective neon sign.

LOCKHAVEN BAR AND GRILL

 _First sign of life I've seen all night._ Moving closer to the entrance, he discerned, in the faint glow

of the neon, a large wooden crucifix affixed to the door, a thick stench of garlic arising from it. Pausing momentarily, he took stock

of what he'd seen, and, inwardly amused by the spectacle, chuckingly opened the door and entered the bar. _Damned lot of good that old_

 _crucifix will do._

A thick haze of smoke engulfed him as he made his way accross the room. He approached the bar and seated himself. A middle-aged

man who had seen better days came to fix his order.

"What'll it be, son?"

"Gin and tonic, on the rocks".

"Coming right up".

Kane retrieved a pack of winston-salems from his jacket pocket. Placing a ciggarette in his mouth and lighting it, he drew a sharp intake of breath, turning about this way and that, taking surveillance of the barroom and its inhabitants. The establishment was a bit livelier than he'd anticipated,containing people of all walks of life. A wino sat in the far corner, dragging deeply on a joint (the government(or what was left of it) had lessenened its asinine war on drugs considerably, arriving at the conclusion there were far greater evils in the world, in light of recent events), an old man in business tweeds sat at a table relating the story of his past to a disintrested young lady,feigning intrest in the hopes of

securing more drinks, and a dark-haired woman, clad in a leather bodice and a thong,her pale buttocks swaying sensuosly in the dim light, led another woman along by way of a leash affixed to a lethern collar. To say the place was a dive was as much an understatement as one could ever hope to make.

Turning to his right, Kane's gaze had alighted on a tall,plump woman seated a few seats down from him, clad in a red sweater and dark pinstripe pants,incongruously paired with a set of white tennis shoes, nursing a margarita as she nervously brushed aside a lock of curly,chestnut-colored hair. An innocent demeanor, coupled with a girlish appearence(not to mention her manner of dress, which was awkward, to say the least)put her in

striking contrast with the rest of the clientele, like a rose among thorns. While by no means beautiful, she was not at all unnatractive,and Kane

found her awkward manner and demeanor to be strangely seductive. Turning to meet his gaze, she favored him a smile, and Kane returned the courtesy,

waving at her, as he did so. Now a fugitive, pursued by a slowly but surely weakening government once it had been discovered he'd divulged the clandestine details of the UAC's infernal experiments on Mars, he by sheer force of circumstance minimized all contact with the general populace,

and only through the strictest of self-control did he restrain himself from approaching the woman. He oftentimes wondered if the service he'd done his country had been entirely worth it.

A considerable time later, having downed his fourth gin and tonic, he'd paid his tab and took leave of the establishment. A short distance from the

alley,he arrived at the Hotel Brunswick at which he'd had the good fortune to spend the past couple nights,and walked hurriedly to his room. Upon entering, he shut off the lights and threw himself on the bed. Sleep overtook him shortly.

Nearly 3 hours had elapsed at the tavern since the chestnut-haired woman had sat down to drinks and dinner, and,

now on the brink of drunkeness, Laura (for such was her name)gathered her purse,proffered a tip to the bartender,and set out to leave.

Nothing save the effects of the liquor could have impelled her through the streets at this hour,as the heavy undercurrent of evil that overhung

the city grew more and more oppresive as the night dragged on.

Half an hour's walk had seen her within three or four blocks of the Hotel Brunswick. As she was hurrying along, an ache had set in her bowels, and she found herself wanting the bathroom. A convenience store loomed up ahead of her on her right, and turning aside, she went in.

A pale, dark-haired man sat at the counter, a placid look set upon his countenance. As Laura approached the counter, a most unpleasent odor assaulted her nostrils. "Um,sir,"she said demurely. "Where's the ladie's?"

"Far left corner in the back," he said,indicating the direction with his index finger.

"Thanks," she said, smiling coyly.

The bathroom's state of sanitation left a lot to be desired,but given the circumstances,it would have to suffice. She entered the first stall and

locked the door behind her. Setting her purse on the floor beside her,and placing a cover on the seat, she slid her pants to her knees and sat on the toilet.

Upon entering the establishment, she'd been filled with a vague sense of unease, which was due in part to the clerk, he of the wan complexion and utter lack of personality. There was something indefinably amiss about him, as well as a number of others she'd come across in her perambulations about the town. Not to mention the acrid stench. If memory served her correctly, the last time she'd come across such a smell was-

 _In a morgue._

She hung her head downward,her palms pressed against her thighs, staring blankly down the bulge of her stomach, and the dark V of her pubic hair, mulling everything over in her head. She would find the nearest hotel, before sleep deprivation overcame her, and, once rested up, she would get the hell away from this damned place.

Once finished, she dressed herself hurriedly and exited the bathroom.

The entire facility seemed vacant as she walked across the aisles. Not even the strange clerk was present. Seconds later she descried a door

hanging widely ajar,apparently to a security room. Though her better judgement proclaimed against it, an idle curiosity compelled her to look inside.

What she saw inside made her redden with rage. Every nook and cranny of the facility, as far as could be determined, was under surveilance,the bathrooms, no less. She clenched her hands till the knuckles showed white. When she arrived at the hotel, she would notify the authorities without

delay (if there were any to be found in the area).

"Can I help you,"a sonorous voice boomed from behind. Startled, she turned around to find the clerk grimacing at her. His gaze held her,as if rooting her to the spot. She felt strangely unable to move. Gathering her wits about her, she turned and bolted for the exit, not allowing herself so much as a glance behind her.

She hurried down the street with feverish haste, scarcely taking time to catch her breath. Ahead of her, on the opposite side of the street, gaped a dark alley,terminating in a rusty chain-link fence. A short distance beyond this the could be seen the dim lights of a hotel entrance.

A sickly coppery stench assaulted her as she approached the mouth of the alley. She moved forward slowly. She was utterly unprepared for the sight that met her.

A man was poised against the side of a trash can,his shirt torn from the collar to the wasteline. His throat was torn, the trachea and larynx laid bare. His body was matted thickly with blood, and abounded with deep lacerations suggesting teeth marks, as if he'd been attacked by a wild animal.

Movement stirred within an open window opposite of her. Red eyes glared at her through the darkness, and pale hands came into view, their fingers terminating in long, talon-like nails. She could discern precious little of the rest of the body.

Moving backwards in petrified trepidation, she screamed.

Dark figures moved towards her from the shadows,scarlet orbs gleaming like burning coals amidst the shadowy indistinctness of the faces. Surrounding her on all sides, they closed in on her.

She fumbled blindly within her purse for the ruger automatic. Pale, cadaverous faces now came into view,inches from hers, sharp, razor-like teeth jutting out from blood-soaked mouths. Long, taloned fingers reached out and seized her, pulling her inward. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream erupted from her...

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
